


The Earth Abides

by sudaki



Category: Gintama
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudaki/pseuds/sudaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kondou receives some news. </p>
<p>Mild spoilers for the Shogun Assassination and Farewell Shinsengumi arcs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Earth Abides

**Author's Note:**

> Don't think about the logistics too hard. I didn't. Probably more dreck, but I got sick of it staring at me.

The message comes just after breakfast one morning, when Kondou is peeling a plaster off his face.  His phone rattles loud against the table and startles him so he yanks too hard and pulls off the scab.    
  
He picks the phone up and flips it open, grumbling.  It's a short message.  He reads it five, six times, maybe more before Hijikata says, "Kondou-san."  
  
A thin trickle of blood has run down to his chin.  He takes the tissue Hijikata offers and wipes it away.  
  
"What's it about?" Hijikata asks.  He's looking up from his newspaper, eyes piercing blue.  
  
"Junk mail," Kondou says.  He watches the end of Hijikata's cigarette as it glows bright red, dims slowly to gray.  
  
Hijikata taps it against the edge of his ashtray and goes back to reading.    
  
Kondou glances at the message once more, then deletes it.  
  
  
"I won't be able to join you on patrol today," he says a little while later, "There's some business I've got to take care of here."  
  
It's nothing unusual.  Hijikata just shrugs and slings on his coat.  "No problem.  We'll manage."  
  
Kondou knows they will.  He still feels oddly guilty, even though he does spend most of the day in office, putting everything in order.    
  
When it's finished he picks up his own jacket, lying forgotten on its hanger since breakfast.  He has one arm through a sleeve before he thinks better of it.  This isn't really _business_ , after all.  
  
  
He brings as many bananas as he can carry.  The monkeys have got most of them before he's halfway up the path, but he guesses Sarugami won't mind too much.  Kondou crouches in the temple graveyard, the sun hot on his back, smoke from the incense stinging his eyes.  He can hear voices in the schoolroom.  
  
"Thanks for trying to protect me back then, old man," he says to the stone, "but even a dunce like me was gonna find out eventually, I guess.    
  
"Sometimes, you ––"  
  
The words stick in his throat.  He remembers the feel of thin, wasted hands turning cold in his own; he remembers Itou's face, soft and serene as it had never been in life.  He remembers Tokugawa Shigeshige, the calm dignity – and warmth – with which he had bid them all farewell.  
  
Kondou swallows the taste of ash.  " –– can't save something.  Somebody."  
  
He takes a deep breath and finishes, with conviction:  "But don't worry.  This isn't going to be one of those times."  It's as much for himself as it is the dead old bonze.  
  
When he leaves the envelope on the open window sill, Kouri's eyes catch his a moment.  Kondou ducks away from the question there; she doesn't call after him.  Her few students, intent on their lesson, notice nothing.  Good kids; maybe they'll really rebuild this place someday.    
  
He walks back out the front gate.  The sun is sinking, a red-gold haze on the horizon.    
  
  
Kondou takes the money he has left, picks up flowers and Hagen-Daaz and goes to Smile.  The women all giggle when he comes in.  It's not busy yet, so another girl sits with him and Otae.  He plucks her a flower from the bouquet, and she just giggles harder.  
  
"Sorry I've been away so long," he says, "Otae-san, did you miss me?  Were you lonely?"  
  
"Like hell I was, piece-of-shit Gorilla."  
  
"Otae-san is such a joker!"  Their third wheel bursts into full-blown laughter and Kondou joins her, at the same time trying to sneak an arm over Otae's shoulders.  Otae jabs the blade of her hand just under his ribs, hard.  
  
Kondou orders a bottle of champagne.  They toast Otae-san until he loses count.  The cabaret is filling up, and the other girl has to excuse herself, still giggling.    
  
Kondou orders a second bottle.  It's expensive stuff, not what he usually drinks.  He tells Otae-san it's because he had to leave her alone for so long (which she demurely protests was its own reward).  He leans back and closes his eyes; everything is warm and bubbly, full of bright voices and laughter.  He can smell Otae's floral shampoo, and a lingering hint of ice cream.  "Otae-san," he says, "won't you marry me?"  
  
And she says "Go to hell," all smiles.  He drinks in the sight, drinks more champagne.  A third bottle arrives.  Kondou loses track of time, gets drunk.    
  
It's not quite midnight when a heavy hand falls on his shoulder.  
  
"Kondou-san, time to go," Hijikata says.  There's a note of uneasy urgency in his voice.    
  
Kondou doesn't complain tonight, but he puckers his lips and singsongs "Otae-san, kiss me goodbye."  She drives her palm into his nose so hard he sees stars.  As they head out the door, his eyes are still watering from the pain.  He turns and waves, and gets a last blurry look.  Otae is smiling.    
  
Out in the car, it's dark and quiet and cold.  Hijikata lights a new cigarette and says, "We just got word.  Lord Shigeshige's dead.  Murdered."  
  
Kondou's head feels blurry.  He breathes in the cold and the bitter smoke, fingers his aching nose.  
  
"Kondou-san?"  
  
"Give me the details, Toshi," he says.  
  
  
Hijikata won't stop pacing.  The ashtray is overflowing with smoking butts.  "Toshi," Kondou says, "It's going to be okay."  
  
Hijikata drags a hand through his hair.  The room reeks of tobacco.  "Kondou-san.  Our position here was already in trouble.  The Shogun was our only strong supporter."  
  
"We're keeping the city safe," Kondou argues, "We're doing our job well.  What else would they want from a police force?"  
  
And Toshi gives him a look – that one that's a mix of disbelief, exasperation, and maybe pity.  It happens when he sees things one way and Kondou sees them another.    
  
Kondou stands and opens the shoji a few feet for some fresh air.  "It'll be okay, Toshi," he insists quietly, "Trust me."  He grins, broad and disarming, and after a minute Hijikata's shoulders slump in defeat.  
  
It will be okay.  "I want you and Sougo to take charge of security for the funeral procession.  Old man Matsudaira says they want me there in official capacity."  That's dangerously close to the truth, so he cringes in an exaggerated manner and adds,  "Do you remember where my dress uniform went?"  
  
"Kondou-san –"  
  
Kondou turns and their eyes meet.  Hijikata's narrow slightly, and for a moment maybe he suspects something is off.  Kondou doesn't waver; he can't.  He gives Toshi a wry little smile; after all they've been through, it's all he can think of.  
  
The moment escapes.  "– I'll get it dry-cleaned," Hijikata says, and Kondou feels absurdly guilty for a second.  "And I'll set up a plan to secure the parade route; you can check it over in the morning."  
  
Kondou doesn't need to check it over.  Toshi knows the city and the men as well as Kondou does.  He's just as thorough, just as cautious.  He's definitely more intelligent.  Kondou wants to tell him so; instead, he looks out into the night.    
  
"Keep Sougo in check," he says, "Last thing we need is him running wild at a funeral."  
  
Hijkata groans.  "He might listen to it from you, Kondou-san, but if I say anything he'll rig the hearse with explosives just for spite.  You talk to him," and Kondou laughs because that's all he can do.  
  
  
He can't talk to Sougo.  
  
The kid is too damned sharp.    
  
Kondou stands there and watches him sleep, instead, like a fretful mother – or like some kind of pervert, probably.  For some reason he finds himself remembering how long, long ago, the kid suggested he and Mitsuba ought to get married.  
  
"Kid," he'd said, "Your sister might have something else to say about that."  
  
"She doesn't hate you," Sougo had told him, "It might be the best you can do."  
  
Kondou remembered laughing.  "Look, you want your sister to be happy, right?  Trust me, that's not the way to do it.   Best I can do for Lady Mitsuba is to keep taking care of you."  
  
He wishes there'd been time to pay his respects to Mitsuba, too.  He feels like he owes her an apology or two.  
  
"Kondou-san?"  
  
He starts; Sougo's voice is muddled with sleep, his eyes half-open in the narrow shaft of light from the hallway.  "Did you have a bad dream?"  
  
Kondou isn't sure he hasn't.  The world seems pitch-black and too still in these hours just before dawn.  His head aches from the champagne, and more.  "Go back to sleep," he says, half-surprising himself with how ordinary it sounds.  
  
And Sougo, oddly childlike and trusting, does.  
  
  
Kondou looks out over the pale, dejected faces and downcast eyes of the morning assembly.  Hijikata stands beside him, mouth set in a hard line.  Everyone is there; he made sure everyone not already on duty elsewhere was assigned to the procession.    
  
In a few hours, the whole compound will be empty.  
  
He pushes the thought from his mind and takes a deep breath.  For once, he doesn't need Hijikata's help to call the men to order.  The courtyard is as silent as the grave.  
  
When Kondou clears his throat, it seems as loud as a gunshot.  "Men," he says, voice ringing loud in the empty air, "I know this is a – a hard thing, we've got to do today.  But even so –"  
  
The quiet is eerie.  There's no yawns, no whispers, no shuffling or jostling in the ranks.  He catches sight of Harada, his mouth a grim line; Yamazaki, shoulders slumped, face gray.  Even Shimaru's bright hair looks wilted.  Looking out at all the faces he gets a funny twisting feeling, like he wants to stand here and memorize each one, and like if he even tries he's going to start blubbering.  Kondou clears his throat again, instead.  
  
"Keep your heads up," he says, gruff.  "We've lost a good man, and a good leader.  That means we've got more to protect, not less.  Remember what we came here to do.  Remember who you are.    
  
"The death of one man, no matter who he was, doesn't change any of that.  Remember that you're samurai.  Remember that you're the Shinsengumi."  
  
The clouds shift and sunlight pours like melted gold down into the courtyard.  Kondou can't see the faces clearly any more for the glare.  He's got nothing else to say.  In the stiff, starched pocket of his dress uniform, his phone vibrates once.  He says, "Dismissed."

 

 


End file.
